Time and age can be cruel. Gravity seems like a good idea in general, but it is not actually your friend.
But, oh they can also be so generous.
Well, not gravity. Although I suppose it does keep us attached to God's green earth.
OK, they're all generous in their own way. Just maybe not to your cheeks (at both ends) and boobs and things.
of my younger friends sent a tweet yesterday asking people's opinions
on older guys "like 45+ and/or with gray hair" wearing Chuck Taylors.
I read it and laughed out loud.
(I myself favor Jack Purcells, but don't have a pair. What
I really want is a pair of Stan Smiths just like the ones I had in high
school when I copied my friend Nicole. They were the best sneaks ever.
But I cannot seem to find little ones. But I digress.)
didn't respond because I thought the question itself was funny. And
also, that's now my age bracket. And also also, I myself occasionally
judge the shit out of young hipsters.
importantly: by this age, I wear what makes me happy, or what amuses me,
or what's comfortable, or what was nearest when we were all running
late and had to get out the door.
I know I've looked ridiculous before, in the name of amusement or comfort or ease. I do not mind. I am sure I will again.
When I was in high school my dad would wear white athletic or black office socks
with clogs and shorts. I thought I was going to die of mortification when other people saw him,
but he did not care. In fact, he may have enjoyed it more because of my
He would also silly-walk down the halls of the embassy just to make me squirm. Or maybe it wasn't actually about me?
So you know I had this high school reunion a couple weeks ago.
And ever since I have been texting and emailing with friends about how much we love and miss each other. I've been looking at these reunion pictures like my children look at photos of themselves.
Ohh, so awesome! So beautiful! So funny! So pretty shiny sparkly!
Some of the hottest boys in high school. The upperclassmen to swoon over. Never in a million years when I was younger could I have imagined embracing them as real, whole, flawed and perfect, beautiful human beings and telling them I loved them, now and forever.
Never could I have imagined that they would see me as an entire person and love me right back. (Although truthfully, I think it took me longer than most to realize I was an entire person.)
So I've been chatting with one friend about how we didn't really know each other in Delhi. I mean, we were friends and he was gorgeous and oh, wow, but I didn't actually know him as a real person. And as we're developing this adult friendship, I realize how much more we had and have in common than I'd have guessed.
We are fucked up and we are perfect. We are just like everyone else and we are unique. We are all amazing. Most important of all, we are loved.
And this is what I keep coming back to: love.
I am generous with love. Well, selectively generous. But generous nonetheless.
Nick chose me and I chose him back because I felt so good with him. I felt safe in being the real me. Not the me that I used to feel like I ought to be so that someone would love me.
And this is what I am slowly slowly working towards. In case you're wondering WHAT my point might be.
I am sorry to get all Bridget Jones on you. But here you go:
You are perfect just as you are. You do not have to be anyone but who you are for the right people.
The right people will embrace you because you wear your sparkly silver sneakers, or have cheesy taste in music, or have madly curly hair that will not be tamed, or blush a little too easily. Not in spite of these things.
I am writing this to the 20-somethings and 30-somethings. And perhaps the one teen (hi Carm!) who may read this. Aging is scary in some ways. But aging is beautiful and delicious and freeing.
Some of you are there already - so very far ahead of where I was. But if you aren't, I suspect you're in plenty of company. You are enough, and you are awesome. You are flawed and you are perfect.
You are amazing. We all are.